The Turtle Run by Marie Evelyn Read Free Book Online Page A

how passionate her socialist cabbie had been about it and she had seen something similar when Clara spoke about the Battle of Sedgemoor. If Clara felt a battle which had happened in 1685 was relevant to her then Becky wanted to know more. Maybe it was something to do with religion. Clara had mentioned the Duke of Monmouth was a Protestant and the library book told her people had feared James II would drag the country back to the days of Bloody Mary, a hundred and thirty years earlier. Hardly something within their living memory but then Becky remembered walking by ‘Martyr’s Elm’ on the other side of Brentwood. The tree had been planted to commemorate the burning to death during Mary’s reign of a young man – still a teenager – for preferring to read the Bible rather than attend Catholic masses. Who would want a return to those days?
    Whatever Clara’s reason Becky also found herself on the side of the Duke of Monmouth; compared to the vindictive James II he was certainly the better man.
    The book was yanked roughly to one side so Joe could look at the cover.
    â€˜ The Stuarts ? Why are you reading that?’
    â€˜It’s interesting.’ Becky quietly despaired of her younger brother. He was bright but had worn his refusal to study at school as a badge of honour. Now he worked in a garage by day and seemed to spend most of his wages trying to service his motorbike so he could get to the garage the next day.
    â€˜I must read it sometime,’ said Joe.
    â€˜You could try reading something.’
    Drawn to Becky’s room by the exchange of voices, their mother appeared in the doorway. ‘You’ve always got your head in a book nowadays.’
    â€˜Why is everyone suddenly in my bedroom?’ said Becky.
    â€˜Since you were fired you just seem to lie around reading,’ complained her mother. ‘Shouldn’t you be looking for another job?’
    Becky sat up; she’d been putting off this conversation but now was the time. Her mother wasn’t cooking, which meant she couldn’t drop anything hot, and she wasn’t gardening, which meant she couldn’t say her back had ‘gone’ – as it was liable to do at times of unexpected news.
    â€˜I’ve got a job.’
    â€˜Hey,’ cried Joe, launching himself onto the bed. ‘Well done. What, how, where?’
    â€˜It’s a little unconventional,’ said Becky. She could see her mother was already mentally fumbling with a large casserole dish. ‘And it’s only for a few months. I’m going to be working for a female author helping her write a history book.’
    â€˜But you don’t know anything about history,’ her mother said.
    Becky waved The Stuarts in the air. ‘That’s why I’m reading.’
    â€˜It’s good news.’ Joe looked defiantly at their mother. ‘Isn’t it, Mum?’
    â€˜So where does this author live?’ she asked.
    â€˜Her name is Clara Babonneau and –’
    â€˜She’s French?’
    Becky realised she still didn’t know where Clara originally came from. ‘She certainly speaks French but she seems to move between houses and, er, countries.’
    Becky visualised a casserole dish slipping from her mother’s grip.
    â€˜So where will you be working?’
    â€˜Barbados.’
    Smash. If this conversation had happened in the kitchen Becky would now be sweeping up shards of glass and lumps of beef.
    â€˜Barbados?’ Joe and their mother cried in unison.
    â€˜Yes. It’s relevant to the book Clara’s writing.’ Becky searched for some familiar words with which to soften the surprise. ‘Look, I’ll just be like a secretary. And it’s only for three months.’
    Her mother did not move or speak for what felt like several minutes. ‘You can say hello to your father,’ she said at last and walked out.
    â€˜Bit of a weird reaction but